


The Wallet Thief

by Hidden_Ajinn



Series: Short Stories [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bad Parenting, Feels, Mentors, POV First Person, Suspense, Writing Prompt, honor among thieves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:53:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24201637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hidden_Ajinn/pseuds/Hidden_Ajinn
Summary: Camron grew up knowing one thing: secrets. But some secrets are just too big to keep - even for money... even if it means she needs to leave her old life of undercover work behind.
Series: Short Stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2147610





	The Wallet Thief

**Author's Note:**

> The first line is not my own - i don’t know where it came from, but if anyone does, let me know. (i would like to cite them) 
> 
> This story was originally a “creative writing assignment” for school during the first term of "Strategic Writing" in college but I ended up really liking it. I only did some minor changes since then; such as the title (used to be called “Secrets”) and the word cap of 900 was no longer in effect sooo i added a couple more XD.
> 
> Hope you enjoy ^^

I started collecting secrets when I was just six years old. 

Now, I sell them.

My chosen name is Camron. I have long since forgotten my ‘real’ name. But that’s fine; I go by many different ones now - one for every new place and case. In the end, it doesn’t matter what I’m called. 

But to those special few I care about, I am Camron. 

The girl with the secrets. 

My earliest memories are of the harsh streets of New York - the secrets, the cold, the hunger - names never really played a part back then. Not unless it would benefit me. Survival was all that mattered. 

Until Markus took me in. 

I’ll never forget how we met.

Markus is … a funny guy. Just a few more seconds and that wallet would have been mine and I would have lived a drastically different life - or so I thought; before I really got to know him.

“Never would have happened,” he told me once. He had smiled that smile he so freely wears and promised me something. “If you ever get my wallet without my knowing about it, I'll consider you my equal. ‘Kay Mousey?”

I still can’t snatch that wallet.

Long story short, after that first meeting at age 10, he decided to take me in. He’s been the father figure I never really had. Then, he taught me his skills and became the mentor I needed. 

I adore all his quirky stories. 

Despite the many new things in my life - education, family, belonging - one thing never changed - secrets.

A gruff voice broke the silence of the night. He spoke directly in my ear from the communicator.

“ _ Almost there, Mousey. One last guard before you reach Gold. Over. _ ”

I was pulled back to the present. 23-year-old me stopped next to a shipping container to reply as I peeked around the corner. 

Snow gently fell from the dark sky, spiraling down to kiss the cold ground before melting back into obscurity. 

A dark form walked towards me.

“Loud and clear Markus. Target in sight... and stop calling me Mousey. Over.” 

Mist formed from my parted lips as I quietly replied. The winter’s bite was especially fierce on the docks that night - even with the worst of the wind blocked by the stacks of containers. 

“ _ You got it, Mousey. Over. _ ” 

Sarcastic bastard … but I wouldn’t have him any other way. A smile tugged at the old nickname.

I tightened the black fitted-hoodie around myself to keep warmer. It did little to combat the cutting cold.

I peeked around the corner of the shipping container again. It seemed I wasn’t the only one cold that night. The closer the guard traveled, the more clear his discomfort to the weather. 

He would pass my position in three, two, one -

“Gah!”

He went down easy. Still breathing, but his head was going to be pounding when he does finally get up in an hour or two.

I leaned him against the shipping container I was previously huddled against.

“Area secure. Going for Gold. Over.”

“ _ Copy that. I’ll keep the cameras looping. Over. _ ” 

With all the months of planning and agonizing over the details, it might be considered weird that I felt a little disappointed that it went so smooth - no shootout, no police chase, no surprises.

It was a little underwhelming. But it was a welcome change at the same time.

I opened the shipping container. Inside at the far end was a three-screen computer set up and an office chair.

I inserted the USB drive Markus had precoded into the set up and it did all the work unlocking and decoding.

Then, I waited.

I sat down and swiveled in the chair, skimming some of the stuff that was decrypted and copied onto the drive, not taking much of an interest.

It was 54 percent done when something caught my eye.

I clicked it open and began reading.

And reading.

And … there are some things so awful in the world, that to put the emotions they evoke into words is useless. I’m no poet. I’m just a simple thief. 

I thought I knew evil. 

No.

This is evil.

As soon as I finished reading, I knew this is one secret I can not keep.

I can not.

If I don’t let anyone know … it will only continue.

***

“Are you sure about this?” Markus asks, “I won’t help you if things go south.” 

Markus is casually smoking a cig, his smile nowhere in sight, sitting on the lip of his tech van, looking on the ground at a pile of slush.

Markus had quit smoking five years before. But after reading what was on that computer … not even he was unaffected. 

He takes a long drag.

“I am.” I pump all the finality I can into those two words.

He slowly exhales the smoke. He climbs to his feet to look me over as if for the last time.

He places a calloused mitt of a hand on my shoulder and says, “As long as you’re sure.”

He pulls me into a hug as farewell.

It doesn’t last long, but it almost brought a tear to us both. But neither of us point this out.

He turns his back on me as he enters the van and buries his head in the computer set up there.

It’s time to do what is right. That doesn’t mean it is easy. 

Crossing the road to the news station, I couldn't help a sad smile.

In my hand is a wallet.

**The END**

**Author's Note:**

> ...
> 
> But is it really **The END...?**  
>  (yeah - it is. it's not a short if it's not short XD)  
> 


End file.
